Chapter 9 - Planting Seeds

“Hey, Tommaso. The usual.”

Tommaso, wiping a glass dry with the indifference of long habit, did not even glance up. His hand moved automatically to the back shelf, retrieving a dusty bottle with practiced ease.

From the sink, Alex straightened slightly. He came early, he noted, glancing from the bottle to the man’s face. And he asked for “the usual”… so he must be a regular.

He turned, took up a broom, and began sweeping in loose, casual arcs, edging closer to the bar.

The man’s gaze followed him.

“Who’s this?” he asked, voice smooth as lacquered wood.

Alex flinched—barely. His hand slowed for half a second before he caught himself.

“Ah,” Tommaso said without looking. “New boy. Started today.”

Alex turned toward Giovanni and gave a shallow nod.

“Good evening.”

There was a pause. Giovanni said nothing. He poured his drink slowly, deliberately.

Then, from behind the bar, Lucia muttered, “Can’t you greet back at least?”

Alex looked up, surprised. Her eyes weren’t on him, but the words had been for his sake. Tommaso’s head turned slightly in her direction, displeased, but he said nothing.

Giovanni finally spoke. “Hello, new boy.” His lips curled. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Alex.”

The man leaned back on his stool, drink in hand.

“And who do you work for?”

There was a beat. Alex’s eyes flicked. His heart gave a small, traitorous leap—but he steadied himself.

“I work for Mr. Tommaso. Right over here.”

The bar’s polished wood gleamed dully in the gaslight.

That startled me, Alex thought, pulse still quick. For a moment, I thought he saw through me… but he couldn't have known.

Giovanni gave a dry smile. “Obviously.”

He took a sip of his drink, then turned his attention toward Lucia.

“How are you today?”

Lucia did not look up. “I’m fine.”

“Anyone bothering you?”

A pause.

“…No.”

From the counter, Tommaso grunted, tiredly.

“I want to work in peace, Lucia. You bring in customers, sure—but sometimes trouble too.” He shot a look at Giovanni. “Come earlier next time.”

Giovanni chuckled softly. “Anyone suspicious ?”

“No. And mob business don’t get discussed here anymore. Keep this bar out of it.”

Alex swept a little closer, head lowered, but ears keen.

So he does come early. Like he’s watching over her… but she doesn’t seem fond of it. Doesn’t lean toward him. Doesn’t smile. Just… bears it.

The hours passed, one by one, until the bar lay quiet and clean. Shadows stretched across the walls, chairs propped upside-down, floor swept of every crumb. Giovanni remained, nursing his drink in brooding silence. But none dared approach Lucia. Not while he lingered.

Alex watched from the far end of the bar.

He kept them away, he thought. But she didn’t reward him for it. Didn’t even thank him. She just endured.

Behind him, Tommaso checked the clock, then dried his hands with a brisk flick of the towel.

“New boy,” he called out. “You’re done.”

Alex blinked, startled. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Tommaso gave a short, dry laugh. “You’re good—very good at cleaning. But it’s late. Later than this, and the streets go mean. Go home.”

Don’t push your luck, Alex told himself. You got good information today. You can gather more tomorrow.

He wiped his hands and nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Tommaso. May I return tomorrow?”

“You’d better. Just don’t be late.”

Tommaso turned to Lucia.

“You too.”

“But I can keep working—” she began.

“Same reason,” he cut in. “It’s late. Tomorrow’s a holiday. I’ll handle the rest.”

She looked away, clearly disheartened.

“You’ll get your full pay,” he added, more gently.

“But—”

“No buts. How’s your mother?”

Lucia lowered her eyes. “She’s… getting better.”

“Good.” His voice was firm, but not unkind. “Go on, now. Good night.”

Giovanni rose from his stool, his drink half-finished.

“I can walk you.”

Lucia stiffened. “No. I’ll be fine.”

Giovanni tilted his head, smile gleaming like a blade. “I wasn’t asking.”

Alex tensed—but before he could speak, Tommaso stepped forward, voice sharp as cut glass.

“She lives around the corner. Cut it out, Giovanni.”

The two men held each other’s gaze. Then Giovanni gave a shrug, all good humor again, and backed away.

Lucia turned—unexpectedly—to Alex.

“Alex.”

He looked up, steady. “Yes?”

“Can you walk me?”

There was no pause in his answer.

“Of course. My pleasure.”

As they stepped outside, the night pressed cool and quiet around them. Gaslight shivered on the cobblestones. Giovanni watched from the doorway, saying nothing. But his eyes followed them long after they’d turned the corner.

They walked in silence through the narrow streets. The air carried the scent of coal smoke and wet stone. Lucia had tucked her hands into her sleeves, and her steps were brisk, but not hurried.

Alex walked beside her, quietly matching her pace. A few lanterns flickered overhead, their glow pale and gold against the night.

“Lucia,” he said softly.

“Yes?”

“What Mr. Tommaso said… about your mother. Is she alright?”

She slowed a little, just enough that he noticed.

“She’s been ill for some time,” she said, voice low. “And I… I can’t afford a doctor. Not unless I work every night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lucia shook her head gently. “Don’t be. You were my savior tonight.”

He laughed, soft and surprised.

“Well… wasn’t he, too? That Giovanni guy?”

She said nothing. Her gaze fell to the ground, unreadable.

“…I guess,” she said at last.

Alex looked at her sideways. There was something in her tone—something hesitant, maybe even conflicted—but he chose not to prod. Instead, he simply walked beside her, present and quiet.

Moments later, she slowed to a stop.

“This is my home.”

A narrow building with sagging shutters and a tilted stoop stood before them. One window glowed dimly from within.

She turned to him.

“Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Lucia. And… I hope your mother recovers. Truly.”

She stepped toward the door—but then paused. Looked at him. Studied him, as if searching for something invisible.

Then, without a word, she leaned forward, lowered herself just slightly to meet his eyes, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Before he could reply, she turned and slipped inside. The door closed behind her with a soft click, the warm light within flickering once before vanishing.

Alex stood there for a moment, hand raised slightly, touching his cheek. The cold air settled around him again, but it no longer bit. He smiled—a small, private thing—then turned and walked on, the street before him silent, and somehow gentler than before.

___

DAY TWO

Alex woke from his bed the next morning, stretching slowly. The morning light filtered through the curtains. Dante lay in the other bed, still asleep.

“Dante’s back,” Alex thought. “He wasn’t here last night. Must’ve stayed out late at his bar.”

He called softly, “Dante?”

“...Let me sleep...” came the muffled reply from beneath the pillow.

Alex smiled a little. “Sure…”

After a pause, Dante’s voice came again, still half asleep, “Did you find… Giovanni?”

Alex sat up, suddenly alert. “Yes. Wait—did you find the second enforcer? Robert?”

Dante pushed himself up, rubbing his face awake. “Yeah… he showed up. But I couldn’t get inside. They wouldn’t let me in. I stayed outside pretending to beg. Watched him go in and out.”

He yawned. “What about you?”

Alex answered, “I got a job at the bar.”

Dante groaned. “Ugh, you little handsome, sweet village boy. Of course you did.”

Alex flushed, “Dominick predicted it. It felt like they were understaffed… and the staff was nice.”

Dante grinned. “Yeah, well, the one I got isn’t so friendly… but I had a clear view from the window. They didn’t notice me.”

“I’m heading back early today,” Dante said. “Gonna bring some junk—pretend I’m selling stuff so I don’t look suspicious.”

“Same. I’ll be there too.”

Dante flopped back down. “Great. Now let me sleep.”

Alex stood, stretching again. “Lucky Dante. I’ve got two shifts today. Still have to go to Mr. Harris’s shop before the bar.”

Dante, eyes closed, smirked. “Yeah, yeah… being a pretty boy comes with a price, huh?”

___

NIGHT TWO

Alex – Guilder Street Bar

The clink of glasses, the low murmur of conversation, and the thick scent of tobacco filled the bar. Alex wiped down the counter, his eyes drifting again toward the corner where Giovanni sat — his sharp gaze fixed on Lucia, as always.

Today too. Giovanni showed up early. No one has approached her since he came in. But she’s not comfortable around him either. I couldn’t figure much else, Alex thought.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Lucia gripping the edge of a large barrel, trying to shift it. She winced slightly — it was clearly too heavy for her.

She’s not calling Giovanni to help… she’s trying by herself… Mr. Tommaso usually handles those, but he’s in the toilet…

Without hesitation, Alex dropped his rag.

“Hey, Lucia! I got this.”

“No, it’s too heav—” she began, but Alex’s arms were already around the barrel. He gritted his teeth, muscles taut, and hoisted it up.

“Where do you want it?”

Lucia blinked, caught off guard.

“Uh—by the cellar hatch, near the side shelf…”

Alex carried it over, planted it down with a thud, and exhaled.

“That was… indeed heavy.”

Lucia laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Is there anything you can’t do? Strong, kind, good with people… If you tell me you play the violin too, I’m quitting right now.”

Alex chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t. But I whistle.”

She chuckled again, and Alex returned to his duties, his ears tinged with a faint blush.

__

NIGHT TWO

Dante – Via Sarto street bar

Nearby, down a different street, Dante leaned casually against the doorway of a dimly lit pawn shop. Spread out before him on a rough cloth were a few pieces of scrap metal — his quiet tools for the night’s work. He didn’t need to look toward the bar Alex worked at; from here, he saw everything he needed.

Inside this other bar, rougher and louder than Alex’s, Robert Cavazza was already drunk and far more aggressive than the night before.

“Hey! What kind of drink is that? That how you treat customers here?” Robert snapped, his voice slurring.

The bartender, calm and dry, barely glanced up. “Beat it, Robert. That’s your usual. Nothing changed unless the bottle started shapeshifting.”

A few men at the counter chuckled nervously.

“What are you laughing about?” Robert demanded, face darkening.

“Nothing. We’re sorry,” one stammered, still trying not to laugh.

Robert stormed over, looming like a bad storm. “You even know who I am?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, mocking. “Careful, gentlemen! That’s the next king!”

“King?” muttered a man at the counter.

Robert puffed up with pride. “I am Robert Cavazza. The next heir of the Marcettiss. You better watch your tongues next time or I’ll cut them.”

One of the men cocked his head skeptically. “You’re not a Marcetti, though…”

Robert snapped back sharply, “It’s not about the name or the blood. It’s about competence.”

Another man nodded, somewhat impressed despite himself. “Oh, so you’re taking over even though you’re not blood…”

Outside, Dante watched without a smirk — only quiet calculation.

Good, he thought. The boss can work with that.

__

DAY THREE

The door to Dominick’s apartment closed softly behind Alex as he stepped into the quiet guest room. Dante was already there, reclining in a worn armchair with the easy confidence of a man who owned the place.

“Dante?” Alex’s voice was low, hesitant.

Dante gave a slow nod. “I’ve got something. The boss is waiting.”

Alex hesitated a moment, then ventured the question that had been gnawing at him. “Before we go in... do you think he’ll hurt anyone uninvolved? Like innocent bystanders? Or someone close to the enforcers?”

Dante cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. If the boss wanted to cause that kind of damage, he’d have done it already. The fact he’s involving us means he’s taking a different approach.”

Alex looked away, uneasy. “There’s a woman at the bar... she works there. I’m not sure if I should even mention her.”

Leaning forward, Dante’s voice dropped. “Dominick’s a criminal, sure. But he’s no butcher. He doesn’t kill for sport. He wants to keep casualties to a minimum. Quiet, clean work, with as little noise as possible.”

Alex frowned, unconvinced.

“Think about it,” Dante continued. “Why all the planning, the watching, using us? He could have stormed the bar, sprayed bullets through every table, and been done with it. But he hasn’t.”

Alex was silent, the truth settling uneasily.

“Trust me,” Dante said quietly. “Whatever you have, just tell him. You’ll see for yourself soon enough. That woman? She’ll come through this. My word.”

Alex didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts still tangled. Finally, he nodded, though uncertainty lingered in his eyes. “Alright.”

A few moments later, they entered Dominick’s study. The room was dim and quiet, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows on the polished wood and stone walls. Dominick sat behind his desk, his black coat draped over the back of his chair like a shadow.

“Sit,” he commanded.

They obeyed, and the silence thickened, sharp as a blade.

“So,” Dominick said, turning his piercing gaze toward Alex, “what have you found?”

Alex sat up straighter, voice steadying. “Yes.. Um.. Giovanni has been frequenting the bar where I work. Two days running, arriving early each time.”

Dominick’s eyes narrowed. “Anything else?”

Alex swallowed, then spoke quickly. “He has a presence—strong, like yours. There’s a woman who works there, a beautiful woman. She’s often harassed by customers, but since Giovanni arrived, no one bothers her.”

“Are they together?” Dominick asked sharply.

“No,” Alex hurried to clarify. “She doesn’t want to be near him. She won’t even let him walk her home. I did.”

Dominick regarded him for a long moment, expression unreadable.

“Dante?” he asked.

Without hesitation, Dante began. “Robert Cavazza. Came twice. Different times, different nights. Left at different times too. Young—between twenty and twenty five. Right-handed. Proud, but insecure. Desperate to prove himself even to the wrong crowd.”

Alex blinked in surprise at the detail.

Dante continued. “He screamed about being the heir to the Marcettis but he watches everyone who comes in, carefully.”

“Just checking?” Dominick pressed.

“Not worried about himself. If he was, he wouldn’t be shouting his name. He feels safe here but isn’t acknowledged. He wants something—anything—to prove himself.”

Dominick nodded slowly.

Turning back to Alex, Dominick asked, “Any interaction between Giovanni and this woman? At all?”

“No,” Alex said. “It’s one-sided. Giovanni watches to make sure no one bothers her. She doesn’t want him near.”

“And the woman? What is she like aside from her beauty?”

Alex hesitated, then spilled it out “She is… polite… doesn’t want trouble…she gets harassed sometimes…”

“How does she react ?”

“She doesn’t like it… she doesn’t want any trouble… she works there because her mother is sick and… her house is nearby…”

Dominick thought for a few seconds.

One is simping so hard for a beautiful woman

The other is young and wants to prove himself

I can work with that.

Dominick leaned back, eyes narrowing as pieces clicked into place.

“Alex, you keep working in that bar, like usual, keep walking her too, befriend her more if you can. If he does anything to the woman, tell me.”

“That is all for you. You can go.” he said.

“Right.” Alex rose quickly, relief and tension mixed in his movements.

“Dante, stay.”

As Alex slipped out and the door clicked softly behind him, Dante smiled. “Good job, buddy.”

__

NIGHT THREE

Dante – Via Sarto street bar

The next night, Dante watched from the alley’s edge, his silhouette swallowed by shadow and half-light. The bar’s windows flickered with warm gold, casting moving shapes across the dirty glass. Inside, laughter grew louder with each round poured.

“Late night...” he murmured, eyes narrowing on the center table. “That’s his sixth glass. Maybe seventh. He should be real drunk by now. The others too... loud. Sloppy.”

A breath. Then a grin.

“Okay. Showtime.”

He stepped inside, greeted by a wall of smoke, sweat, and stale spirits. The bartender barely glanced up before scowling.

“You again, kid?” he barked. “Told you I don’t need help—and I’m not serving you drinks, got it?”

Dante lifted his hands in mock surrender, smile playful and disarming. “Relax. I’m not here for that.”

He turned, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a broad man at the center table—slouched, flushed, glass in hand.

“Hey you!” Dante called.

Robert blinked, slow and annoyed. “What do you want?”

“Buy something from me? Just a little something. I’m starving out here.”

Robert stared. “What are you even selling?”

Dante pulled out a handful of junk from his coat pocket—twisted metal scraps, the fractured face of a broken watch, maybe the edge of a cracked mirror. Worthless. Pitiful.

The bar roared.

One man choked on his drink, another slapped the table. A third pointed and wheezed, “What the hell are we supposed to do with that garbage?”

“Maybe fix your face with it, kid!” someone else shouted.

Even Robert snorted. “Scram. I’ve got no use for junk.”

But Dante’s smile sharpened.

“Come on, sir. You look like a big deal. Rich. Important. Aren’t you?”

Robert leaned back, eyeing him with faint disdain. “I am a big deal. Doesn’t mean I’m buying trash.”

The bartender snorted. “Come on, Robert, show a little pity—like your bosses pitied you when they took you in.”

Laughter again. This time louder, uglier.

Dante tilted his head, eyes steady.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly, just enough for the nearest men to hear. “I guess he’s no big deal after all.”

The laughter thinned. Something shifted. Tension gathered like storm clouds rolling low.

“Ohhh boy,” some men muttered.

“You hear that, Robert?” someone said, nudging him. “The kid just disrespected you.”

Robert’s glass lowered slowly. “What did you say?”

“You turned me down,” Dante said, shrugging. “And judging by how they talk to you... yeah. You don’t seem like much.”

He turned toward the door, casual as ever.

“So I’ll just leave.”

Robert’s voice dropped like a hammer. “Hold it.”

Dante paused, halfway to the threshold.

“You think you can just walk away?”

“Sure,” Dante said, smiling faintly. “I’ll go to that other bar. Anyone as rich and important as this dude around these streets, guys?”

One man snorted. “Nah... this one’s unique, kid.”

Another chimed in, slurring slightly. “I’d like to see Giovanni’s face when you hand him that junk.”

“Who?” Dante said, turning slightly. “You think he’d buy from me?”

“He works with Robert—supposedly,” the drunk added, swirling his cup. “But I dunno. Maybe sell flowers instead, kid.”

“Actually,” a third voice said, “is Giovanni still hangin’ around that one bar?”

“Yeah. Wanted to go there myself,” someone else muttered. “But that pretty girl works there—Lucia. He doesn’t let anyone near her.”

Dante raised a brow. “Wow. Good with the ladies too. I’ll definitely try him.”

He paused, then played dumb with perfect innocence.

“So wait—this man, Roberto or whatever can’t go there either? ‘Cause Giovanni won’t let him near her?”

The bar snapped silent—right before the thud echoed through the floorboards.

Robert’s boot slammed into Dante’s ribs, knocking him sideways across the wood. Glasses rattled.

“Shut up and leave,” Robert hissed, standing over him.

Dante groaned, half-curled—but the curl masked a smirk.

“Robert, come on... that was too much,” someone muttered uneasily.

But another laughed, raising his drink. “Aww, no shame in it. None of us can go near her either. Only the simps who don’t mind just looking...”

“She’s not even with him, is she?” a third slurred. “What’s Giovanni’s deal anyway?”

“Maybe she is,” said the first. “Who knows. Either way, not smart to mess with Giovanni.”

The bartender slammed a rag on the counter. “Kid! Get outta here before I kick you myself! Party’s over!”

One of the drunks clapped Robert on the shoulder. “Hey—why don’t you go talk to her? Shoot your shot.”

Dante, still hunched on the floor, tucked his face low to hide his growing grin.

Another voice joined. “Yeah, let’s see if you’re charming enough for Lucia!”

“Hell yeah!” the man said, smirking. “Bar’s getting boring. Let’s see Robert try his luck with the fairy.”

“If he means what he says... come on,” the third man added with a lazy grin. “Next heir of the Marcettis, right?”

Laughter again— it did reach Robert. His fists tightened. His face darkened.

And somewhere in the shadow of the counter, Dante watched it all unfold.

Just like the boss said it would.

__

NIGHT THREE

Alex – Guilder street bar

The bar’s weary chatter ebbed as Tommaso wiped the counter one last time and called the night’s end.
“Shift’s over. Off with you both,” he said, voice rough but kind.

Alex turned toward Lucia, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Shall I walk you home again, Lucia?”
She returned his smile with quiet warmth. “Of course, young man.”

Alex’s heart lifted. The evening strolls had become moments of simple solace. He thought to himself that he was not harming anyone, and that there was no cause for suspicion — nothing to report about Giovanni to Dominick.

Yet as if summoned by some dark certainty, Giovanni rose from his seat by the counter, his movements deliberate and heavy. Approaching them, his very presence cast a shadow, causing both Alex and Lucia to start involuntarily.

“Go home, kid,” Giovanni said, his voice low and measured. “I’ll walk her tonight.”

“Giovanni!” Tommaso’s protest broke through from behind the bar.

Giovanni only smiled faintly, a curl of defiance in his voice. “Sorry, Tommaso. But you’re not my father.”

The bar fell into a hush thick with whispers, eyes darting between the three.

Alex met Giovanni’s gaze—an unspoken plea flickering there. He did not trust the man, nor did he wish to relinquish his place by Lucia’s side. Yet, in a subtle motion, Lucia squeezed Alex’s hand—a silent signal heavy with fear and resolve.

“I’m fine tonight, Alex,” she said softly, though the timbre of her words betrayed a longing she would not admit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alex nodded wordlessly. He watched as she stepped out into the night, Giovanni close behind her. And though he stayed at a cautious distance, his eyes never left them; his concern tethered to every careful step they took.

The walk to Lucia’s small apartment was brief and marked by an oppressive silence. The night wrapped cold and still around them. Neither spoke.

At the door, Lucia paused. “Good night.”

Giovanni’s voice came low, barely more than a murmur. “Lucia.”

She turned slowly.

“I’m tired,”

Her body stiffened. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I said no.” Her voice trembled, fragile as thin glass.

“You think I’d hurt you?”

Her eyes fell, voice barely a whisper. “There are hundreds of women out there, Giovanni. Why me?”

He smiled faintly, the darkness in his eyes unsettling. “Because you’re a fairy, not a woman.”

“Please, no.”

“This must end,” she said desperately. “The rumors—people are watching. What if they see you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. If anyone dares speak against you, they’ll regret it. No one will touch you, Lucia. No one will whisper behind your back. I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t want protection, I’m not involving myself with anyone involved in criminal activity” she said, voice breaking. “I want to be left alone.”

From a distance, Alex could not hear, but he saw the tension—thick, suffocating.

Giovanni’s tone softened, coaxing but firm. “I’ll do this every night if I must.”

Her lips parted, a silent plea tangled with fear.

“I never asked for more than a chance,” he said. “Not a drink. I promised to treat you well. To keep my work out of your life. Yet you persist.”

“I offered money for your mother’s medicines,” he continued quietly, “though I’m struggling myself. You wouldn’t take it. Flowers—I gave you flowers. You wouldn’t take those either.”

He studied her, voice rough with a strange tenderness. “I’m sorry. You don’t realize how terrifyingly attractive you are.”

“My mother… is inside,” she whispered.

Giovanni’s eyes lingered on her, unmoving.

Lucia looked down, trembling, the weight of her defiance crumbling. With a slow, resigned motion, she opened the door—leaving it ajar.

He stepped inside without a word, with Alex watching.

“I will… let Dominick know.”